


Milan, Live On Tour

by glitteredcurls



Series: H&L one-shots [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, One Shot, Short & Sweet, basically i saw the tour picture and had to write something around it, it's just cute and gay people, pre-tour blues, that's all, theres some good descriptions in there but nothing happenin' real time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 20:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15226902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredcurls/pseuds/glitteredcurls
Summary: Before Harry leaves for tour, Louis tries to steal photos of Harry to keep to himself during the months of distance. One strange obsession for him is capturing pictures of Harry brushing his teeth.(or, a one shot based on the tour photo for Milan)





	Milan, Live On Tour

A sudden flash was the only thing to alert Harry someone was nearby. He had been mindlessly fixated on his reflection, watching his cheek flex from the push of his toothbrush.

“I’m nearly naked. Do you mind?” He said, half-gargling. “This isn’t exactly photo worthy.” Even the underwear, the only thing on him beside the blanket now pooling around his feet, wasn’t his own.

“I disagree.” The Polaroid had already spat out the photo, the white background unshadowed. Harry squinted to try and watch the shapes appear, but it was no use. The thin fingers operating the camera pulled the photo out and waved it back and forth. “I think it’s beautiful.”

“Louis,” Harry spat his toothpaste into the sink. “What are you going to do with that now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asked, holding it to his face closely, watching all the faded details emerge: Harry’s single stocking foot, a pair of stolen underwear from Louis' drawer fitting a bit too snugly around his thighs, his usually bouncy curls flattened from lying in bed all day, and expression slightly furrowed at the sight in front of him despite the loving eyes admiring it from behind the camera. “I think I’ll frame this one.”

“I’m brushing my teeth.” Harry laughed, stepping over to get a look at the picture. Louis pulled back and turned it away from him. “Come on. That’s got to be the third one you’ve taken like that.”

“But you look so handsome.” Louis lifted his eyebrows and looked up from the photo. His smile was enough to make Harry lift his grimace. “You still don’t expect me to catch you.”

“Because I’m just brushing my bloody teeth.” Harry said, holding up his toothbrush. “I’ll start dressing up if I know you’re going to start taking photos of my evening routine.”

“Oh, no. That would be counterproductive.” Louis shook his head with a tiny-- barely confident it was there-- pout. “These aren’t leaving my sight.”

“Is that why you stopped taking them on your phone?” Harry teased. “A little too close to messages for Mum?”

“They’re tasteful.” Louis countered. His finger had only slipped once, but luckily God was watching and gave him the worst service and no bars to send the photo through. It wasn’t incriminating, just horrifically unrelated.

“Last week’s wasn’t.” Harry said, sticking the toothbrush back in his mouth. It was a clear enough gesture. The photo on the other hand, was an unclear blur of flesh and trailing fingers. It was buried inside a book tucked under Louis' pillow. It was a memento of frantic closeness in the withering hours before a tour. But only one would be leaving.

Louis finally stopped waving the picture, the photo fully developed and Harry’s form visible. He looked at it with longing, his eyes dragging across every curve, line, and shadow. Harry was right in front of him but the photo seemed to offer more comfort to the slow wrinkles forming between his eyebrows. Harry finished brushing his teeth and placed the toothbrush back on his side of the sink; it was already cleared of most of his things, packed away in the bottom of his suitcase. He leaned down to pick up the blanket and hoisted it back around his shoulders.

“I know.” Harry mumbled, holding out an arm and inviting Louis to tuck himself into the warmth. He shook his head and turned back to the bedroom. Louis placed the camera on the suitcase at the foot of the bed and abandoned the photo, letting it flutter face down onto one of his own shirts tucked into Harry’s suitcase. “Hey, come on. I’m not  _ leaving you _ .”

“I know.” Louis nodded. He eased himself onto his side of the bed. The comforter was recently washed, puffing up around him. The sheets were new. The bed was a stranger now. “This one just feels harder than the others.”

“We’ll see each other and I’m sure you’ll visit.” Harry said, walking to the other side. He kneeled and moved to the center, stretching out beside Louis. He remained upright, studying his hands. “Come on, Love. Don’t be like this.”

Louis' sagging shoulders finally lifted for a slow inhale, eyes leaving his hands to find Harry’s. He grinned up at Louis, placing a hand under his chin.

“So photogenic.” He muttered, placing a hand on Harry’s head and pushing his curls back. “Why did we ever agree to leave this room?”

“I can’t remember.” Harry said, wrinkling his nose and shrugging. “We must not’ve been thinking clearly.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Louis cracked a smile and leaned back to rest beside Harry. Victory only looked good when spattered with freckles. “God, look at you.”

Harry was sprawled out across the entire mattress, leaning on his elbow to stare back at Louis. Their eyes never met as Louis slowly drug across Harry’s stretched form. His hand delicately reached out and ran across Harry’s chest, as if tentative of blurring the vision before him.

“I’d say take a picture, it’d last longer… but I’m afraid you’ll take me seriously.” Harry teased, grabbing Louis' hand. “So I guess you can keep staring.”

“No, I want a picture of this. Don’t move.” He said.

“Why did I open my mouth.” Harry laughed, his head slipping off his hand to rest in the crook of his elbow.

“Hey, no! I said don’t move.” Louis crawled back from the edge of the bed with the camera in his hands. Harry peeked out from his arm, hand reaching out to push Louis back. The camera clicked anyway.

“There, now you have another--” Harry was interrupted by another click. “Oh come on.”

“I want to have something to remember you by.”

“I’m not  _ dying _ .” Harry reached out and tried to grab Louis again. He was still able to grab another photo of Harry.

“I know. I just want something for me, only me.” He lowered the camera and collected the four photos scattered over the bed. “Makes you feel closer. Like you just stepped out for a bit.”

He cradled the photos in his hands, thumbs brushing over the undeveloped shape of Harry’s embarrassed grin. The illusion would be helpful for the months to come. Harry hopefully would be too busy to truly have the energy to fully develop loneliness, instead walking around the stage and going country to country with a low, heavy pit of uncertainty resting around ribs.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Harry tried to smile and ease the desperation from Louis' eyes. He was trying the photo out and even with Harry a blink away, it wasn’t enough. “I can do better than that. Here, come on.” Harry pushed the camera back towards Louis and took the developing photos from him.

Louis lifted the camera with far less certainty and smugness than before. It weighed heavy in his fingers, the lens having a better look at Harry than he would for the next few months. Harry inched his way further on the mattress, resting his head on Louis' lap and looking up at him. His hands reached behind his head to gently trace Louis' legs, hopefully giving him something to remember when Harry’s hands would be thousands of miles away, touching foreign hotel bed sheets. The camera fixed on Harry, but never found the right angle. It lowered and Harry could finally see Louis' eyes again.

“I like the toothbrush ones better.” Louis said, placing a hand on Harry’s chest. “It’s not the same when you pose.” His hands slid down to rest over Harry’s stomach, now twisting and pooling with warmth in just the right way. “I like when you’re the boy only I get to see.”

“I promise you, I don’t look at anyone else like this.” Harry whispered, covering Louis' hands.

“Better not capture it then.” Louis said. “Don’t need anyone seeing it for themselves.”

“But you’ll take a picture of me while you--”

“Again. Tasteful.” Louis laughed, soft and genuine. He leaned over and pressed his forehead against Harry’s. Their hands, fingers interlocked, ran over Harry’s stomach slowly. Harry drug Louis' fingers, at his own discretion, to the waistband of his underwear before sliding them back up.

“Tomorrow will be fine.” Harry said softly against Louis' lips, their distance shrinking. “Just think of me going home for holiday-- three nights tops.”

“Repeat ad nauseam.”

“You’ll be there when I have off, or when you want to see the show. Never more than two weeks, okay?” Harry kissed Louis without force. It was timid, bordering on scared. Pulling away was going to be the hardest part and he wasn’t sure if either of them had the ability or desire. “I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Louis sighed, the words hot against Harry’s lips. “Don’t leave.”

“I have to, Love.” Harry had every means to cancel every last show within the hour, but folding to the urge would leave them susceptible to every other temptation they had. Louis would be right; they’d never leave their room. “Tomorrow, is just the flight. We’ve gone to airports before, it’ll be--”

“Shut up.” Louis silenced Harry as he shook his hands free from their shared grip. Harry worried he had made it worse and rose to sit upright, only to be pushed back down. “I can’t act like I’m not going to miss the everloving fuck out of you.” He breathed, gripping Harry’s face and digging his nails into his cheeks. “I just want to have you all to myself.”

“You do.” Harry’s hands clambered for a part of Louis-- hands, waist, shirt-- anything to pull him down on top of him. “Fuck, you do, you do.”

“All mine?”

“All yours, always.”

Louis pulled away to stare down at Harry, cheeks beginning to flush and eyes unable to disguise his pooling tears. Harry scrambled to take it all in, eyes tracing the familiar lines of Louis' face and studying the blue eyes wanting to take him in breathlessly. It was going to fade rather than develop like the Polaroids, but it was a beautiful memory. Harry never had a chance separating from Louis, but for a moment-- a single flash-- he thought he could stomach it, as long as those eyes never left him.

* * *

Three Polaroids found their way into Harry’s suitcase.

First of the three was a photo taken by a friend of the two of them standing in front of their new home. It was older, Harry’s hair still able to be knotted at the top of his head. Neither were looking at the camera-- one of the four outtakes before getting the correct photo that hung in their foyer. Harry was craning over his shoulder, checking the background of the shot-- no moving boxes sitting in the front lawn. Louis was looking elsewhere; his hand rested on Harry’s chest as he was caught studying him. His smile was small, almost keeping to himself, and his eyes were shining. Harry had never seen the photo before. It was placed on his mirror every evening as he got ready.

Second was a photo of himself stretched out along the mattress, sheets balled by his sides and face turned away from the camera. As strange as it was to get a photo of himself embarrassingly crumbling, it made his last evening home resurrect itself under his skin, hot and tight. The photo reminded him of the impossible heat burning him from head to toe as he all but wept under Louis' hands, his own fist blurred but still visibly frantic at the edge of the shot. Unheard in the photo was a hiccuped promise Harry would only be Louis'. It slipped out his lips and onto the pillow softly at first, but echoed as the heat bubbled up to his chest, his lungs tightening. He was afraid he’d die there, open and vulnerable and seeing only white as Louis snapped the photo.

Lastly, tucked under Louis' stolen shirt, was a photo of Harry at the sink brushing his teeth. The back was signed “ _ first time catching you _ ”. Harry was slouched by the sink, hand gripping his toothbrush while the other braced him against the counter. He was in worn joggers and a shirt he hadn’t seen in weeks, having disappeared in Louis' closet. There was something wonderfully underwhelming about it. He wished he could have had the same eyes studying him that night.

Thirteenth show of the new leg and the heaviness had begun to expand in his chest. It was dull and insatiable, causing his bones to hum and tremble every night. The stage helped him forget, but the sheets of an unknown bed were never warm enough.

His pre-stage routine was passing without notice, dripping through his fingers as he washed his hands and face. He tapped the Polaroid on his mirror and grabbed his things before walking back to a more populated area. The soft cacophony eased his tension.

“Harry, wait,” a voice lifted him from his daze. “a photo for the evening.” A camera was raised but not directed at him.

“Sure, of course.” He looked down at the things gripped in his hands, seeing if he should rid them for the opt: a tube of toothpaste and his toothbrush. “Let me just, start this.”

A laugh rippled through the room as Harry squeezed the paste out and stuck the toothbrush into his mouth. The idea was familiar, Harry leaning against the wall as he gripped the brush’s handle. He was in more than just his underwear this time-- decked out in almost laughable mustard and lavender-- but there were other photos to fill in the unseen skin.

“All yours.” Harry said, leaning back to keep the spit in his mouth. “Take it away.” He spoke to the camera, knowing his audience.

The lens was lifeless, but Harry could feel the eyes that would be on the other side of the photo in a few hours, dragging over his lifted chin, his inattentive eyes, and slouched stance. The reason for the photo, the owner of its underwhelming beauty, was halfway across the world, but the lens connected them. Louis looked through it and Harry could feel his bones stop trembling. He was still and warm, finally.

It was love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading xo
> 
> Tumblr: @kissyboystyles


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